


Pines

by OmegaZeta5



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Mentioned Glenn Fraldarius, Mentioned Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:02:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29474415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OmegaZeta5/pseuds/OmegaZeta5
Summary: Rodrigue dies, and Felix is not as alone as he wants to be.She looks at him again. The same way she’s been looking at him all day. His fist tightens beneath the table, his stare a razor’s edge. A standoff except they’re sitting and they’ve forgotten the blades. Go on. Bring it up. Bring up nothing and see how he cares. That’s all it is. Nothing. He feels nothing.Annette flashes him a smile. “Cookie?”
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 8
Kudos: 47





	Pines

**Author's Note:**

> This turned out a bit longer than I initially meant it to lolol

His throat’s dry. His lungs burn. And there’s a pounding in his ears that won’t go away.

Felix grunts and swings the axe down in a smooth motion. The wood splits in two clean halves that fall away from the withered stump and he stands, panting. Dry and blackened stump, small. Dead. The midday sun in his eyes, harsh and flaring as it was since it first rose through the pines and he’s been here since before then. He glares into that white point, like he’s telling it he won’t budge and the sun is more than welcome to try. Burn him and sear him and blind him. He can’t even feel it. 

He will not feel anything.

Felix wipes the cold sweat from his brow and wedges the axe into the nearest tree. Then he moves to haul another log from the weathered pile, soil soft and damp beneath him. This was someone else’s task. Some other student’s chore. That’s not what they are anymore. Student. Soldier. What difference does it make? He’s here, he’s chopping the damn wood. That’s what he told Byleth and it’s what he’ll tell Sylvain should he bother to try and take it from him. As if Sylvain would bother doing anything asked of him. Maybe if someone pulled his ear hard enough. Ingrid. Ashe, maybe. Dedue. Felix wouldn’t know. He hasn’t talked to any of them in a while. Thank the Goddess they haven’t tried.

He yanks the axe back, rolling the handle of it in his palm and surveying his newest outlet. The chunk of log grooved and perched erect on the stump. Egging him on, goading. Look how perfect and whole I am. Felix breathes hard through his nose.

The crack of a twig underfoot.

The world spins and Felix raises the axe and he hears her yelp before he really sees her. His muscles forgetting he’s not holding a sword, the axe pointed right at her and she nearly drops her straw basket. She smiles weakly.

“Hi,” Annette says.

Felix stands there and matches her sparkling wide gaze. Her in her dress and her bow and gleaming almost luminescent in the waning day. The faint flush on her cheeks, the air shivering past her lips. She’s still trying to smile.

“Don’t try and sneak,” Felix says, dropping the axe, “you’re bad at it.”

She flicks her eyes once and her smile seems to come easier. The slightest ease of tension in her shoulders, like a rubber band that never got a chance to snap. “I’ll only be bad at it if I don’t keep trying.”

He scoffs but his glare left him the moment he saw her. “Yeah. That’s you.”

“That’s me.” She looks behind him for a second. “How’s it going?”

“They wanted firewood. They’ll get it.”

Annette seems to hesitate a little. “Looks like we’ve got plenty now.”

“We’ll get plenty more.”

She nods, her gaze away. “Right, right.” The unsteady timber in her voice. She looks at him again but her lips don’t move.

“Daylight’s burning.”

She shifts in her stance and lifts the basket a little. Her grip tight on the handle. “Leftovers.”

“You, on kitchen duty.”

Annette shakes her head pleasantly. “When will they ever learn?” Then she’s looking at the basket like she’s reevaluating the existence of its contents. But then her face scrunches up a little and she’s Annette again, beaming at him in her Annette way. He hasn’t seen that in a while. He hasn’t seen her. He hasn’t seen anyone.

“So yeah, leftovers.” Her tone turns sheepish. “All this outdoorsy stuff. I thought you’d be hungry.”

“I’m not.”

“Right.” She drifts up to him, hopping her step a little and then she’s fumbling through the basket, jostling her bangs and biting her lip. She finds what she’s looking for and holds up something wrapped in a pink stained parcel.

“Sorry,” she says, quieter. “Walking and tripping through these woods. It’s...it’s a little mangled.”

A loaf of hazel bread, its warm hue clear through the wrapping. Felix smells bananas. His mouth’s less dry. “Not hungry.” 

Her gaze lingers on his face, her eyes pooled blue and her brow turned up the slightest bit. Like she’s trying to hide it and she’s so bad at hiding things. She keeps on looking and his scowl worsens.

“I’m not.”

“Pretend like you are.”

“Ridiculous.”

“Please?”

Felix holds her stare. He paws the bread from her delicate fingers and his glare returns but she looks relieved. He finishes the pastry in three violent chomps, like he’s biting an apple. That warm, rich taste. She seems to find something she appreciates in his expression. The faint curling of her lips. Her gaze filled with gratitude. 

“I’ve got more.”

“I’m done pretending.” 

His fingers remember the axe they hold and he shuffles back to the stump. The sun’s just starting to kiss the peaks. He rolls his shoulders, readying himself for more chopping, more breathing. More burning.

“Later,” Annette says behind him.

“Right.”

“No, I mean—later.”

Felix looks back. She squirms where she stands, both of her hands tight on the basket’s handle. “I’ll bring it back. If you feel like pretending a little more.”

“I won’t.”

“Not even a little?”

He considers her, this cream-colored girl who keeps on pushing even when he never starts budging. She was always like that. She’ll always be like that. Even when he keeps being like this. These burning, searing hot-white licks in his chest that only seem to grow and grow. The perpetual scowl in his face but it’s not aimed at her. He’s not sure what it’s aimed at. He’ll always be like this. He’ll never be anything else. Not after that damned field.

“Do whatever you want. I can’t stop you.”

He turns and chops away like she was never there. He can still feel her gaze on him for a good while longer before it finally leaves him to his burning.

* * *

They will not leave him. No matter how much he sweats, how much he cleaves. Places and tones and phrases and faces. He lingers too long on one of those threads and his memory does the rest. Their estate buried in the snow, a glowing hearth in their dining hall. He’d finally gotten to try some of that tea.

“Eugh!” Felix tossed the cup back onto the varnished table, wiping at his tongue. “Pine needles? Really?”

Glenn sat with his arms crossed, his smirk growing stronger the longer he watched him. “It’s a good scent, nice and strong.” 

“It’s gross.”

“So you didn’t take to it. That’s a shame.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

Felix shot him a miserable glare. “You’re lying.”

Glenn chuckled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Felix eyed the cup again. Glenn shook his finger, clicking his tongue as he plucked the cup and rose from his chair.

“Told you,” he said, “you get one shot.”

“No fair.”

“Not everything’s gonna be fair, kiddo. Sometimes things are a hell of a lot harder than they gotta be...like appreciating a nice cup of Almyran Pine, for instance.”

“Okay but you’re dumb.”

“Not my fault strength doesn’t agree with you,” Glenn said. “Maybe in the next life-”

Felix hopped and swiped at the cup and Glenn just held it higher, dangling it above them. “Nu-uh. Gotta be quicker than that.”

Felix meant to say something that probably sounded smarter in his head than it would on his tongue. He didn’t get to. 

“Up bright and early today, are we?”

Father swept through the hall. His thin smile, the cool warmth in his eyes. Felix pointed at Glenn with an indignant face and said nothing. Father understood immediately. He always did.

“Glenn. Does it truly do you so much good to tease your brother so?”

“He gives as much as he gets,” Glenn said. He winked at Felix. “Don’t you?”

Felix pouted and still he said nothing. He never did say much around Father. Glenn was the talker. The promised child. Destined for great things, and Felix needed to work hard if he ever hoped to catch up. But the way Father put it, that never sounded like a bad thing.

“They just finished clearing out the courtyard,” Father told Glenn.

“Finally,” Glenn said. “Just when I thought I wouldn’t get anything done today.”

Felix looked between them. “Can I come?”

Glenn dipped his chin to meet Felix’s gaze. A faint glimmer of apology in his eyes, even as he grinned. “It’s big brother stuff today—fencing.”

Felix pouted. “I wanna play too.”

“Sorry.”

“Why not?”

“Because you still think it’s playing,” Glenn said. “And you still can’t reach my cup.”

Felix frowned. “I’m supposed to hit my growth spurt soon, you know that.” 

“Be that as it may,” Father said, stepping between them, “it’s still too strenuous for a boy your age.”

“You always say that,” Felix muttered.

Glenn’s smile grew. “One day, little brother. One day.”

Father drew a firm hand on Glenn’s shoulder, beaming. “Go on, get dressed.”

“Yes sir.” Glenn shot Felix one last wink as he made his way out the hall. Felix shuffled his feet, glowering at nothing, and he kept on glowering even as Father crouched to match his level.

“Felix,” he said, and Felix looked. Father smiled. “Don’t take it to heart. Glenn’s a special sort of lad.”

“I could be a knight too,” Felix insisted. “If I really wanted. Not my fault I’m too small.”

Father shook his head gently but his smile remained. He curled rough fingers through the back of Felix’s head. A twinkle in his eye, the one that always cropped up when he looked at Felix. “You will be a knight, boy. Don’t worry. All in due time.”

“You don’t know that.”

Father laughed. “But I do.”

“How?”

Looking at him, Father’s smile grew warmer. “Because the Northerner is a knight at heart—that will always be his true calling.” 

Felix held his father’s gaze. Words like these were almost always noise to him; incoherent phrases strung together with meaning he wasn’t learned enough to know. Yet in that moment, staring at his father smiling at him, it all made perfect sense.

* * *

He hacks the log in two and buries the axe into the stump. His palms raw and sore around the handle, his clothes like ice against his damp skin. Felix leans up and the air crystalizes above him as he breathes ragged through his mouth. The whole forest awash in static blue, the finer details crushed black. What time is it? He can remember that old man’s garbage but he can’t even remember when the sun set. Felix wipes his brow and turns for the pile. He blinks.

There’s no more wood. Nothing left to cleave. Nothing but the dark soil. An empty forest. An empty hall. Felix stares at that nothing, his fists tightening until the skin stretches taut over the knuckles.

And then there’s a snap of a twig.

“Goddess, I’m so bad at this.” 

Felix turns slow at the strained voice. He can barely see her through the wooded dimness. Her orange shawl almost blue in the coming evening. That same damned basket in her gloved hands, fuller now, crammed with parcels.

“You are,” he says.

Annette blows her bangs away. “I’m gonna be honest...I don’t think I can find my way back.” 

“It’s Garreg Mach.” 

“It’s _dark_ ,” she says, insisting with her head bobs, “I really thought you were a bear or something for a second.”

“I’m still not hungry.”

She stares at him. Shimmering blue in the dark. “Aren’t you cold?” Quiet tone.

“No.”

She looks at him a moment longer. Felix grits his teeth. Then she nods, slow and careful as her steps, inching. Her basket swaying softly in her grip.

“More leftovers,” Felix says.

“More leftovers.” Annette seems to think, her gaze slightly away. “It was a big supper. Almost everybody turned out.”

“Did they.”

Annette nods. “Thank the Goddess for Mercie—I dunno what I would’ve done without her.” Her eyes fall. Then they fix themselves on him again. “They were asking for you.”

Felix snorts. “I bet they were.”

She tries to smile, blinking. “You’re really not cold?”

“You’re really not deaf?”

Her lips almost quiver to a frown. She rubs the parcel in her fingers, tapping her foot a little. Then her jaw sets in place. “I’ve got some tea brewing, in the hall.” Her tone a little shrill. “I...like tea.”

“...Yeah?” 

“And I don’t know my way back,” she says, fidgeting. “As we’ve established. I can’t even see five feet ahead of me, here.”

Felix stares at her through half-lidded eyes, a hand on his hip as he studies her. She’s fighting not to squirm, he can see it. Her hand almost a fist on the basket’s handle. She blinks under the resolute furrow of her brow.

“And the hall’s empty, now.”

A cricket in the brush. Echoing chirps through the pines. They stand there and Annette’s features begin to twist and warp in Felix’s gaze, the darkness encroaching on them both. She doesn’t look away.

“You can’t ever see five feet ahead of you,” Felix says, sighing. She blinks as he walks past her, through the shadows he knows lead back to the Monastery. “You never could.”

He can hear her light pattering steps behind him, crunching the leaves. “Yeah,” she says. “I guess I couldn’t.”

* * *

There really isn’t anyone in the dining hall. He sits at one of the empty tables beneath melting candlelight. The raw ache in his bones, torn muscle. He’d crossed his arms and let it all course through him like a groaning wave and fixed his stare on some unknowable point across the hall. The warmth suffocates his ears but hasn’t quite reached his tingling cheeks yet. He can almost feel how red his nose has grown.

“Almost done!” Sing-song tone. “Sorry for the wait.”

Felix looks over, her back turned to him as she works the kettle. Diligent as ever. All that’s missing is the tune, any tune. The notes that seem to waft from her lips so easily, so simply. She’d do it if he asked. She really would. The price he pays for being unable to keep his mouth shut about it. She didn’t tease him about it like he thought she would. She doesn’t tease him at all now.

“I didn’t ask for any,” he says.

“You never do.”

Felix sighs beneath his breath. He looks at the table. She’d spread out the contents of the basket before shimmying her way over to that end of the hall. Bread and muffins and cookies. This condensed mass of sprinkled sweetness. It refuses to grow any colder.

“Right! Here we are,” she says, her voice closer and he blinks. His teacup gently placed on its saucer, her holding her own as she sits across him. She smells the steaming aroma and her eyes flutter shut, her head dipping back a little. Then they shoot open, dazzled and focused on him. “She really did hook us on this stuff, didn’t she?” 

Felix huffs. “Every time. ‘Pastry? Tea?’ Like that’s what she would summon us for.”

“And she always knew what we liked.”

Felix stares at his tea, glimmering and soft. Almyran Pine. “Sure,” he says. His voice a tinge thicker.

“I miss those tea sessions.”

“Take it up with her, then. I’m no professor.” 

She falls quiet, drinking her tea. His own can only stay neglected for so long. He raises the cup and takes one sip. The firm, earthy tone pooling in his gut, stewing with those burning tendrils. A seeping, simmering hole freefalling into something he won’t look at because it’s not there, not really. Who would he be if he could feel any of this lingering nonsense?

The cup goes back on its saucer. It’s all he has not to toss it across the wood.

“You think it’s gonna rain?” Annette asks.

“Maybe.”

She sits with her hands on her knees. “That’s good. Feels like we haven’t had any in a good long while.”

“It’s rain.”

She looks at him again. The same way she’s been looking at him all day. His fist tightens beneath the table, his stare a razor’s edge. A standoff except they’re sitting and they’ve forgotten the blades. Go on. Bring it up. Bring up nothing and see how he cares. That’s all it is. Nothing. He feels nothing.

Annette flashes him a smile. “Cookie?”

His jaw loosens, bit by bit. She holds one up. The chocolate chips glistening as they melt. He looks at her, her gaze heartfelt as her smile. Like it’s a peace offering.

He grabs one from the pile. “Pastries. It’s always pastries with you.”

“Oh, how I wish it were. Pesky diets.” Annette sighs like it’s the most miserable thing in the world. “But it’s okay, I can cheat. Everyone can.”

Felix nearly scarfs the first one down. Crumbs on his glove. He reaches for a second. Then a third. He sits hunched with his elbows on the table, sifting for the cookies one by one. His eyes flit up sometimes. She holds a muffin in her hands. It’s hardly nibbled. The cheery pleasantness in her eyes as she watches him.

He decides his next one’s his last. He leans up, wiping his mouth gruffly. “It’ll get cold,” he says, a half-hearted point at her muffin.

“Maybe,” she says. Her gaze darts away, her smile soft. “I’m glad you liked them. The cookies.”

He doesn’t acknowledge that. “Yours, huh?”

She nods fervently. “It all is. Well, Mercie helped with the bready stuff. But the cookies? All me.”

The brightness in her tone. He grimaces away from it a little only to be reminded of the teacup’s existence. His gaze falls. “That so.” 

“We try to do everything together. According to her, chocolate will never go with cookies.” 

“...They’re cookies.”

Annette nods, like someone finally gets her. “Right? For whatever reason they’re just not for her. For her, it’s…oatmeal.” Annette shudders.

For a moment, he’s not frowning anymore. Then his lips thin back out into a blank line. “Oatmeal, huh.” 

Annette sighs apologetically, her finger toying absently with a curl in her hair. “I don’t think we’re ever gonna see eye to eye on that.”

“I can’t blame you. It’s oatmeal.”

Annette laughs. A fluttering, chirping sound. “Good to know we’re on the same team.” She gestures over the table. “Please. If you’re still hungry, you know. I’d rather as little of it go to waste as possible.”

His stomach’s ceased its grumbling. “I’m fine." 

“Are you?” 

“Yes. Just tired, is all." 

She chances a coy glance at him. He snorts. “I said I was done pretending.”

Annette smiles to herself. She looks back up, her gaze more honest. “Wash it down, at least?”

The teacup. “I’m fine,” he says. 

“Are you-”

“I’m fine.” An edging firmness in his tone. Warning.

She retreats, her hands dipping back over her lap. “Right,” she says quietly. “You’re...you’re fine.”

“Right.”

He stares at her. She dips her chin as her gaze runs away but she can’t hide her frown anymore. Her foot tapping away beneath them, shaking her a little. The question on the tip of her tongue. 

“Go on,” he says. 

She looks at him but says nothing.

“Go on.” A little louder. “Out with it already. Get it over with.”

“...Are you going out again, tomorrow?”

“There’s no more wood to cut.”

She stares at him. Twiddling her fingers. “You know what I mean.”

“If I am?”

“I-” Annette breathes in, seems to try and consider her words. “I wish you wouldn’t.” 

“You wish I wouldn’t work?”

“That’s not working.”

“News to me.”

She rubs her arm, her stare rolling across the table and searching for something neither of them can see.

Felix scoffs, shaking his head. “What would you have me do?”

She finds his gaze again. “You could be here.” Gentle, pleading tone. “With us. With your friends.”

She’s not tapping her foot anymore. He doesn’t know when he started his own. “Sit and wait for that boar to find meaning. Or for the Empire to make another go for us, whichever comes first.” A growing rawness in his core, his throat. "We take a hit and our plan's to roll over with our belly up, of course. I see now." 

“That’s not fair,” she whispers. “That’s not fair to anyone.” Her eyes pouring into him. “To you.”

“Not everything’s supposed to be fair,” he mutters. His hands digging into his legs. “Sometimes things are a lot harder than they have to be.”

Annette leans in, her gaze so unbearably soft on him. Felix hisses through his teeth. She speaks in a tone that matches her eyes. “It is hard. It’s...it’s so hard. I know I’m not-” she hesitates. “I can’t say I know. Not really. But-”

“Fodlan’s sake.”

He starts getting up, his glare free and smoldering. The desperation in her face as she rises with him. “Felix-”

“How many times? How many times do I have to tell you?”

The slow shake of her head. The way her chin quivers. “Please don’t go.”

“I’m fine,” he snarls. “This is who I am. This is how things are.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“ _Yes it does._ ”

She flinches. Felix steps back, rubbing his temple and shaking his head. A glint of white past his vision. She’s drifting around to his side of the table, now. He tenses up immediately. The door’s right there, one of many. His legs don’t move. He is a raw, open nerve, and the very air seems to scald him.

“It does, and there’s nothing you or I or anyone can do about it. Not before, not now, not ever. You have things and they take them from you and you don’t get to choose the time, the place, the words, you never get a say in any of it. I know that. I’ve known that for as long as I can remember.”

Annette steps ever closer to him and the words cannot drive her away. She seems to take them into herself, all the cold, shaky bitterness they stand on. He breathes through his nose. 

“So don’t try and say that I need to be here and not there, that you can’t hope to understand what I’m going through because I’m not going through _anything_ . Because I know this. I’ve seen it, I’ve _felt_ it, Goddess’s sake. It’s not new. It’s not special. It’s not supposed to be. It...it-”

She takes her hands in his own, peering up into him. The wetness in her blinking eyes as they search his face. Shaky breaths. Too close to hide from.

“Felix,” Annette whispers. His eyes dart over her. The beginnings of a scowl on his that fails to properly manifest, no matter how many times he tries. A flickering expression.

“Old fool. Goddess, he was always a fool.”

She shakes her head softly. “You don’t mean that.”

“And I really bought it too. Can you believe that? Chivalry, loyalty. He was so sure I’d be a knight. The way he’d talk about it. I was so sure it was the proudest thing to be of in the world. Even when it landed his own son in a ditch he kept on going and he’d never see otherwise, no matter who told him. No matter how many times. And then he had no sons. Not really. Because Glenn wasn’t Glenn to him anymore, and I was still Felix, and how could I let him have that when he wouldn’t even let me have a brother anymore?”

“But you did have him,” she says. Her hands squeezing his, pleading. “You had a brother.” Her mouth trembling. “You had a father.”

“Honor. Duty. There’s no courage in that. There’s no courage in any of it. All those words and speeches and none of it mattered because a blade is a blade and flesh is flesh. That’s all he was. That’s all I am. I’m...here. And he’s not. And he never was because he was Rodrigue, Fraldarius head, honored, noble, high and mighty and stupid. I couldn’t be that. I’ll never be that. Sorry. I’m sorry I’m all that’s left. I’m sorry I couldn’t be everything he wanted me to be, couldn’t see his lies for anything other than what they were. He couldn’t see that? Goddess above, why the hell couldn’t he see that?”

His throat impossibly thick, hoarse. The world waning into blurred shapes, insufferably. Annette implores him with her stare. Whatever words she might have, he doesn’t know them. She just stands peering up into him, staying, feeling. He blinks his gaze away, shaking his head as the harsh grief fills his eyes.

“Why couldn’t I be there for him?”

Annette’s hands leave his and her arms wrap around him, squeezing, crushing as she buries her cheek into his chest. Her shoulders shaking as she sobs for him. He does not move. Utterly frozen. The burning in his eyes, hot and wet. Then his arms twitch up and she nestles into him and his chin falls atop her head, his eyes clenched shut. Something like a rasped sigh tears from his throat, his chest heaving. Then another, and another. His back hits the wall and he slides to the floor. Annette’s left toppled over and she holds him as they both shudder and gasp in the silent hall. 

“I’m alright,” he whispers, hoarse and scratchy. “Just—just tired. I’ll be fine. You don’t have to stay.”

Annette sniffles. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

The ache in his chest, like the sobs crack it apart. He breathes, his brow scrunched up in a way that feels permanent. He tries to stifle the shake of his shoulders. His heart in his head, his breath in his ears, everything falling apart, shriveling, wilting. Goddess, he’s burning. It’s all burning. He wants to ask her. He needs to ask her. It’s the only thing that can make it all go away. He can’t ask her. It’s the final nail. The admittance that his coming undone is real. That he feels. That he grieves.

“D-do you want me to sing for you?” 

The honesty in her question, her tone. His breathing grows even shakier. He answers. She holds him tighter.

“Okay.” 

His hands clench her dress. Her cheek wet against his, her fingers brushing and soothing through his hair as she hums low, broken tones. They stay like that, riding out the surf as the candles melt to nothing and the hall dims to a softer glow.


End file.
